I know you are tired
Of picking up shit, sitting in shit, putting up with shit
Swallowing shit and showing up, again and again.
Gaslighted into false spaces of rest, into presenting as if it’s all okay.
I know that you have run this marathon far past your finish line
Panting through these last 100 miles or so with eyes searching
For a damned cowbell and pool of water already.
And there have been unexpected victory laps and wardrobe changes no doubt.
Rewarding your persistence with synchronicitoes, gentle offerings to lure you further along.
Past that expected self, far past some of the old shit.
Integrated, yet insiduously marketed to and preyed upon to hold you in a dizzying dance of reevaluating.
In easily shared checklists, workshops, and tests.
Keep going, the spirits whisper, the spirits warn.
Marco, I call out in curious exhaustion
Hear echoes of Polo sing out from unexplored caverns within
Ring out from unknown spaces ahead
And so I keep running, holding, hoping, pushing, searching
For the next space that will hold me.